


Winterfair Gift Shopping

by Gwynne



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen, What do you get the man who really DOES have everything?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:23:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwynne/pseuds/Gwynne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For randomstasis: At some point, it dawns on Ekaterin that her romance and marriage into the Vorkosigan clan has unexpectedly horrifying consequence; she must divine the correct answer to the soul-shriveling question: What does one give this assortment of giants and legends for Winterfair? And how do you wrap it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winterfair Gift Shopping

In all the long, dark, grindingly empty years with Tien, Ekaterin had never wished him dead. She’d never fantasised about taking him firmly by the throat and squeezing…

But now, happily married to a man who adored her, a man she loved with every fibre of her being, she was experiencing previously unsuspected homicidal tendencies.

“Miles, I swear, when you get home I’m going to…” To what? She spent a few productive moments considering the relative attractions of a push down the stairs, a shovel cracked down firmly on his head, her nice sharp Lady Vor knife, or manual strangulation.

It wasn’t only that he was halfway across the Nexus just when she needed him so much, it was that he was so darn happy about it. She tapped the comconsole to replay his latest message: “…Ekaterin, love, I know you’ll manage just fine. I have total faith in you. Besides, it’s not a big problem. Just pick something simple that feels right for each person. And only small things. We have a sort of agreement to keep the costs low. And we try to make the gifts personal. I trust your good taste. Go with your strengths. Oh, and have fun with it. And if you can’t do it all, don’t worry, I should be home in a few weeks, I’ll be back in time to pick some things up. Probably. Have to end this message now, don’t want to give them time to reload. Love you.”

Reload? She wondered what charged weapons were lying around Vorkosigan House. Maybe she could give her loving, totally useless husband a REALLY warm welcome when he finally came home.

For a moment she felt ashamed – what kind of wife could make a fuss about a bit of Winterfair shopping when her husband was facing enemy fire out there in the dangerous Nexus?

The kind of wife who knew that the hyperactive egomaniac was out there having a brilliant time, while she faced the terror of her first Winterfair shopping list that included the Emperor, Empress, the Viceroy and Vicereine… and Lady Alys! Ohhh sweet spirits, what do you get for Lady Alys? And when Miles says to keep the costs low… she had no idea what ‘low cost’ meant to a man whose shopping lists used to include jumpships.

She had to buy a Winterfair gift for Gregor. 

The Emperor. 

Since her marriage the previous Winterfair she’d gradually grown more at ease with Miles’s glittering family. She could even call her emperor by his given name without bracing herself first.

But… gifts? For... them? Damn Miles, this was his job. She’d already bought just the right gifts for her own family, wrapped them and had them all ready to send. Vid games for the children – suitably educational but fun as well. A nice brooch and ear-rings for Rosalie, in the shape of yellow roses – her favourites. Silk shirts, perfume, bright embroidered scarves, enamel hair-ornaments, wine. Just expensive enough that they knew she wasn’t being miserly, but not so expensive that they’d feel burdened by it all. With her own family she could get it exactly right, and she knew just what to get for each one. Even Tien’s mother wasn’t forgotten – some of the special chocolates she liked, that you couldn’t buy in her provincial town. For Aunt Vorthys she’d made copies of some documents from the Vorkosigan archives – checking with Miles first, of course, although it was unlikely that there’d be any security problems hidden in documents more than a century old. And for Uncle Vorthys, a special package of Ma Kosti’s finest efforts, all the sweet tarts and little delicacies that he loved so much.

That was easy, she knew all those people. They were family.

But… Gregor was family too, now. And Cordelia, and Aral, Alys, Laisa, all of them.

So – she was good at shopping for family.

But… what do you get the man who really DOES have everything?  
For the first time she truly understood Ivan - this was All Miles’s Fault. 

Regretfully Ekaterin abandoned her happy husbandicide dreams and reached for the comconsole again. This required an expert.

* * * * * * *

“Alcohol.”

She thought for a moment that her guest was requesting refreshments, then realised it was a suggestion.

“Alcohol. That’s what I get them. Wine, brandy, whatever. And I usually give Miles some of that vile maple mead he likes. The gift-giving is only for fun, anyway. We used to love it when we were kids, and somehow we just kept the tradition going.” Ivan flashed his sunniest smile, “Gregor generally gives everyone books. My mother gives the women embroidered scarves and other High Vor nick-nacks. She gives each man a silver stylus engraved with his name, or something similar. We usually open Aunt Cordelia’s presents later, when we’re alone.” He shuddered, “She tends to get very … Betan. And she’s still waging a campaign to enlighten us all.” He considered for a moment, “Mind you, some of her presents can be very… practical… in the right circumstances. So long as you read the instructions properly, first.”

Ekaterin offered him the tray of spiced peach tarts. “So…what do I get them? Miles said you don’t spend too much... but what’s too much?”

Ivan waved a tart-laden hand, spreading crumbs far and wide, “Oh, you know. Just get something simple. It’s all for fun anyway.”

Ekaterin frowned. She needed another expert.

* * * * * 

“Something small and tasteful, dear.” Alys sipped her tea then replaced the cup without a sound. Ekaterin sighed, she’d never have that poise and control. “Miles has never been able to grasp that concept. One year he gave Gregor some kind of spring-loaded toy. When Gregor opened the gift the toy sprang out at him. We spent the next hour in lockdown while Impsec checked the whole room, and the other gifts, for explosives. Gregor’s cook was most displeased at the delay in serving the meal. I have to say, though, it did give Gregor a laugh. Which was something he needed at the time.”

Nothing explosive. Not very helpful.

* * * * * 

“Don’t let it worry you,” Cordelia smiled from the comconsole as Ekaterin watched the message for the third time, “It’s just a little tradition we like to keep up. When the boys were young Aral usually gave them toy weapons, or remote-controlled spaceships. I remember how he’d end up fighting some of the Cetagandan wars over the dining table. It could be a little disconcerting, having a small space fleet zooming past as you tried to eat. But it was just for fun. Don’t let it get to you.”

Space ships? 

And now Cordelia gave them things that were terrifyingly Betan, apparently. But then, the first Winterfair gift the woman ever gave was a severed head. So, although she was a great help and comfort in many ways, she probably wasn’t a source of good-gift advice, really.  
* * * * *  
“Ohhh I know how you feel,” Laisa signalled for one of the servants to bring the coffee, “I agonised over it last year. In the end I gave everyone some shares in a Toscane trade fleet. That’s something everyone can enjoy.”

Ekaterin sipped the coffee grimly. 

* * * * *

So much for advisors. Fine. She could do this. Something simple, not too expensive – by High Vor standards. Personal.

Personal?

Ivan gave them all wine, Gregor gave them all books. Alys – classy, useful little gifts. Aral gave space ships. Cordelia – something scarily Betan. Laisa – fleet shares. Miles’s gifts tended to explode.

Ekaterin stared at the list. Then she smiled.

* * * * *

The family Winterfair dinner was in one of the smaller dining rooms at the Residence. Small was, of course, a relative term. There was plenty of space for a table that could easily seat the whole family twice over, and at the other end of the room a scattering of comfortable chairs and lounges around a massive fireplace. Cordelia still gazed in wonder at the cheerful fire, burning real wood. 

Miles arrived just in time, having rushed from the shuttleport. He was, of course, bubbling with excitement about his latest, wildly successful auditorial venture, but he stopped long enough to give Ekaterin a fierce hug and a tender kiss. Then another… and then he remembered where he was and smiled at the waiting family. And then kissed his wife again.

Finally all greetings were done and the infant Prince Xav had been handed round to all the ladies and cooed over, while the men watched in a happy haze of genealogical relief. Afterwards a bevy of nursemaids scuttled back to the nursery with the hope of the Empire, and the family settled around the fireplace for the traditional gift exchange. The pile of brightly wrapped gifts under the Winterfair Tree caught Mile’s attention, he bustled around getting everyone seated comfortably and started distributing gifts.

Ekaterin surveyed the growing pile of gifts beside her. A book from Gregor, a beautiful hand-illustrated tome from the ToI, describing the plants of the Southern Continent, along with some shares in a Toscane trade fleet from Laisa. A bottle of brandy from Ivan – with a note that, since she’d married Miles, she’d probably need this. A delicate glass and silver bud vase from Alys. She hadn’t opened the gift bag from Cordelia and Aral. She smiled and thanked everyone, and covertly watched them open the gifts she’d wrapped so carefully.

Once she knew what to do, it was easy – she had access to all the right plants, it was just a case of choosing carefully. 

Gardens. Tiny gardens, little miniature worlds in delicate ceramic bowls – Laisa’s had a glass dome over it. For Cordelia and Aral, a tiny copy of the gardens at Vorkosigan Surleau. For Alys, a sweetly scented rose garden. For Ivan, a miniature Barrayaran garden that could survive with minimal care and effort. And for Gregor, a peaceful garden of quiet contemplation, for those days when the meetings were constant and he needed something to give him a moment of peace.

Ekaterin relaxed for the first time that evening, and sighed in relief. She felt soft breath feather across her cheek, and a light kiss brushing there. “I knew you’d be perfect. See – we all keep it simple and personal.”

She decided not to throttle him just at that moment. Save it for after dessert maybe. There might be chocolate.

The best gifts reflect the giver as well as the receiver. 

But next year, Miles could do the shopping for his side of the family.


End file.
